


to hell with first impressions

by mabi_lune



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Elias is a terrible boss, I need fluff so I am writing it, Jon just got promoted to the Archives, M/M, Martin doesn't work at the institute, No one is surprised, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Slow Burn, all of the fluff, and some entities to make an appearance soon!, and they were neighbours!, brief mention of spiders!, canon typical worms, ft. Jon's sense of style and fashion, ft. Tim and Sasha being the iconic duo we know and love, ft. everyone being awkward, ft. not quite Lonely Martin, hurt/comfort in later chapters!, more tags to be added as I add more chapters!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabi_lune/pseuds/mabi_lune
Summary: In which Jon is Martin's upstairs neighbour, and Martin may or may not have a small crush on him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 313
Kudos: 721





	1. Chapter 1

Martin is not the type to be judgmental, but even he has to draw the line when his neighbour decides to move all of his furniture at 3am on a Friday night. Martin is even less so the type to actually get annoyed about it enough to take matters into his own hands and complain, but really, this is too much. And Martin is exhausted. And, quite frankly, Martin is very much ready to be asleep and to end the misery that this day has been.

So Martin gets up. He is just awake enough to remember to throw an oversized T-shirt on over his pajamas pants, but just groggy enough not to bother switching his pastel blue teddy bear slippers for something more… respectable. To hell with first impressions.

Martin leaves his flat unlocked and climbs up the stairs to Flat 4, right above his. A small, more conscientious part of him tells him that maybe he should wait a few days before complaining about noise. Martin’s only been here for two weeks, after all. But he shuts that part of him right up, and goes to knock on the door. The shuffling in the flat stops immediately. Martin can tell that the person on the other side has heard him, but they seem unsure about whether or not to open the door. Martin knocks again, louder this time. To hell with first impressions.

The person inside the flat seems to make up their minds, and soft footsteps make their way toward the door.

Martin makes a conscious effort to mold his features into an expression which would adequately transmit his exhaustion and annoyance. Maybe if his neighbour pities him then this will go more smoothly (and Martin has been told that he is easy to pity, take that as you will).

Finally, the door opens, and a man peeks out from behind it, like he isn’t sure what to expect. Whatever prep Martin had put into appearing angry and tired becomes useless in an instant as he observes the man in front of him. If Martin appears tired, then this man is positively lacking several days of sleep (if not weeks). Martin didn’t know dark circles could get so… dark. Almost like a reflex, his heart clenches, and he has to stop himself from asking the man if he’s okay. That… wouldn’t be appropriate, Martin thinks. Wouldn’t be appropriate even if the man in front of him looks like he really shouldn’t be standing, even if Martin can see strands of white in his otherwise black hair, even if he looks to be about thirty but carries himself like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, even if the pastel pink sweater with the words “What The Ghost?” in bubbly font seems to be swallowing his small frame whole.

“I… er… yes?” the man says, voice soft and whisper-quiet.

It takes Martin a few seconds to respond.

“Hi…” he says, “Umm- Martin. I’m… Martin, I mean- it’s nice to meet you?”  
He didn’t mean for it to be a question, but he can’t stop it from turning into one.

“Oh… uh, I’m Jon,” the man says. And then he holds out his hand. 

It’s 3am and Martin is wearing teddy bear slippers, and this man is almost swaying with tiredness, and Martin can’t think of a more awkward gesture than this handshake. He takes the man’s hand anyway, and shakes it. The man’s, Jon’s, skin is brown and cold and soft. Martin can see some papercuts along some of his fingers. He lets go before it becomes uncomfortable. 

He waits for Jon to say something- then realizes that he’s the one who showed up on his doorstep in pajamas in the middle of the night.

“Jon- hi,” he finally says, “I’m sorry to bother you but…” Martin fumbles for words, “I was wondering… if you would- if you could, perhaps, just keep the noise down?” There, it’s out, well done me, Martin thinks. And yet he can’t stop himself from rambling on, “I don’t um, mean to be that one grumpy neighbor making a fuss about the noise you know, but it’s… it’s just been a long day… A really really long day actually, and I kind of need the day to be over, but I can’t sleep right now.” He feels like he’s forgetting something, but it comes back up, “Oh! I’m your downstairs neighbour by the way. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to introduce myself yet- just moved in a couple of weeks ago, you know?”

Jon blinks and stares at Martin like a deer in headlights. A very pretty deer, Martin thinks, with lovely golden-brown eyes. Jon looks back into his apartment, and then back to Martin, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m… very sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t sleep. But that’s no excuse of course, I know. I just haven’t lived in an apartment, with people so close by I mean, for a little while, and I didn’t even consider how noisy it might be.” 

Jon looks down, almost sheepishly, and Martin follows his gaze down too. Opposite his ridiculous slippers, Jon is wearing a fuzzy white sock on one foot, and a Christmas-themed sock on the other. It’s July, but Martin isn’t about to comment on what appropriate footwear is. 

Martin is aware that now is the time when he should accept Jon’s apology and go back to bed, but he’s so intrigued by his neighbour that he doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. Or maybe he just needs to talk to someone, because he’s been cooped up inside his apartment all day. Maybe that’s why he just keeps on talking.

“So… you’ve just moved in as well then?”

Martin can tell that Jon wasn’t expecting the conversation to keep on going, and he looks a bit startled by Martin’s newfound enthusiasm for it. He still answers though.

“Oh, yes, I actually just moved my things this morning.”  
And Martin thinks that Jon might leave it at that, but to his surprise he keeps on going, “I’ve been struggling to set up my Internet for the whole day…and night, really… And then I was so irritated by it that I couldn’t get to sleep, so I figured I might as well start unpacking.” As he says this, he looks at Martin and smiles apologetically, “And that wasn’t the best idea, obviously.” 

He looks so miserable that Martin nearly forgets why he ever knocked on his door in the first place. The annoyance he felt for his upstairs neighbour has long since dissipated, and all that Martin feels now is worry for this man. Okay, and maybe a very miniscule part of Martin is also amused when he pictures Jon with his pink hoodie and mismatched socks, and who is seemingly just as young as Martin, spending an entire day struggling to get his Internet up. It’s a very cute image. 

No, not cute, Martin reprimands himself. He tells his sleep-deprived self that what he really needs to do is sleep, and that his tiredness is the only reason why he would ever think that Jon is adorable. He’s sure that after a good night’s sleep he will realize that Jon is just a very average looking man, who is noisy at night, and who Martin will get annoyed by again. Right now though, Martin thinks that he really needs to leave Jon alone.

“Moving sucks, I fully agree with you. Um, I suppose I’ll leave you to it then? I’m going to try and get some sleep.”

Just as Jon was surprised by Martin keeping the conversation going, now he seems surprised that it is ending. He takes it in stride though.

“Oh, yes of course. Again, I’m very sorry I’ve been keeping you up.”

Jon starts to close his door, and really that should be the end of it, but- but Martin is exhausted and also Martin is lonely and also Martin thinks that Jon is very cute.

And maybe he’ll hate himself for it in the morning, but right now he can’t stop himself from adding, “I just set my own Internet up, so, err, I suppose that I could help you with yours if you’d like? Tomorrow, that is, because I’ll be useless until I’ve had a few hours of sleep. But I’ll be free tomorrow- or today, I guess? I suppose that technically we’re already tomorrow aren’t we?” Martin chuckles softly. “So just… come knock? If you need any help?”

Martin doesn’t wait for a reply before turning around and almost running down the stairs. It only takes him about 30 seconds to rush to his bed and collapse with exhaustion. It takes a little longer than that for his heart to stop racing in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon doesn't like spiders. Martin is here to help.

Martin would’ve kept on sleeping if his phone wasn’t ringing so damn loudly. He reaches over his pillow to his nightstand and grabs for it blindly. It’s half past noon. Martin thinks that he must have been really tired last night, as he’s usually not one to sleep in. He recognizes the number though, it’s his mom’s care home. 

He answers it, barely awake.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Blackwood, hello!” comes a bright, cheery voice from the phone, “Since it’s been a week now since Mrs. Blackwood moved in with us, we were just calling to give you a little update!”

“Oh, um, yes, thank you,” he says. Then, more quietly, “How is she?”

“She’s lovely! Getting along really well with everyone else here, and she seems to be enjoying herself too. She won Bingo Night over the weekend, so she’s a bit of a celebrity here really!” 

Martin can hear how hard the woman on the phone is trying to make him feel included, adopting an overly friendly tone. He knows that she isn’t lying, he’d picked this care home because he knew his mother would like it, and- and he’s glad that she is. But he also knows that she should be the one on the phone right now telling him how she’s doing. He wonders if she made an excuse not to call herself, or if she’d painted him out to be a burden she couldn’t bear to speak to.

He chats to the woman on the phone for a few more moments, and blinks away tears as he hangs up. Still, he forces himself out of bed, and goes to fetch himself some tea in the kitchen. As he waits for the kettle to boil, he notices a piece of paper that has been slipped under his door. The writing on it is messy, but Martin can still make out what it says:

“I came to knock this morning, but you must still have been sleeping, and I didn’t wish to disturb you again. If your offer to help still stands, then you can consider this to be an SOS from a man who is just inches away from throwing his computer and router out the window. I’ll be inside my flat all day so you can come knock whenever, but I fully understand if you are busy. Jon.”

His meeting with Jon comes back to him in a rush. A small smile plays at his lips as he reads the note over. It’s strangely formal, a bit at odds with the man in mismatched socks he spoke to yesterday- but then no one is their best self at 3am. 

With that thought, Martin cringes in embarrassment as he remembers his own fashion choices the previous night. Not intent on repeating the same mistake, Martin puts a little bit more effort into his outfit today. Fine, he puts more than ‘a little bit more effort’ into it really, but he rationalizes it to himself as needing to make up for how he presented himself earlier. And besides, he’s pretty sure he must have been half-crazy from tiredness last night, because the image of Jon that his mind has conjured up is much too adorable to be true. Despite that, Martin settles on one of his nicest shirts and spends perhaps an inordinate amount of time tousling his hair in front of the mirror.

By the time he’s finally ready to head up, he still hasn’t had his tea and the water in the kettle has cooled down to be just lukewarm. Before he can change his mind, Martin sets down two cups on his counter, tosses a packet of Earl Grey tea in each, and turns the kettle back on. 

Three minutes later he’s in front of Jon’s flat, holding a mug in each hand. Both hands occupied, he taps his shoe softly against Jon’s door.

A slightly panicked “Come in!” comes from inside. 

“Oh- um, give me a second,” says Martin. He rearranges the mugs, so that he’s holding one against his chest with his arm, and the other in his left hand, freeing up his right one. Martin opens the door, a bit hesitant.

The flat is empty. Empty aside from carboard boxes, some half-unpacked, others still taped up, and a mattress directly on the ground. No Jon, though.

Martin steps in as he calls out, “Jon? Are you… all right?”

Jon’s reply sounds strangled, but Martin can still hear the relief in it as he says, “Martin! Thank god!”

For a second Martin is very glad that Jon is nowhere to be seen, as he feels a blush rushing up his cheeks at the way Jon’s just said his name.

Jon continues, “I’m… um- I’m in my room, Martin… Opposite the kitchen. Could you- would you mind coming over please? But not too quickly or-or it might move…”

Terrified, is what Jon sounds like, Martin thinks. He hurriedly sets the two mugs down on top of a turned-over carboard box, then heads to the bedroom.

As he gets closer to the open door, he finally spots Jon in there. He’s… standing on top of a desk in the middle of the room. He’s holding a book in his hand, and staring intently at the floor. From the mess of bubble wrap and carboard around the desk, it seems like Jon had just finished building it before… whatever happened, happened.

Jon spots him too. For a second neither of them says anything. Martin thinks that it’s just his luck that his cute neighbor is apparently also crazy. After all, Martin’s been having the worst few weeks of his life, so of course Jon couldn’t be normal.

But then Jon points at the floor next to the bedroom door and says, “Spider-um, there’s a spider there.”

Oh. Not crazy then, just scared of bugs. Martin bites down a quick smile. Somehow he doesn’t think Jon finds the situation as amusing as he is.   
He follows Jon’s finger to the spot he’s pointing to on the floor and, sure enough, there’s a large house-spider there, right in the doorway. 

“I’m… not a spider person,” Jon says, as though that needs saying.

Martin can’t help but chuckle this time. And immediately regrets it, “Oh! I’m sorry, it’s- this was just a bit unexpected…,” another small laugh escapes, and Martin wants to die. “Sorry, sorry! Lots of people don’t like spiders, totally normal. And not funny,” Martin adds.

And then, “Do you have, er, a glass that I could borrow? To trap it? And then I can take it outside for you.”

Nervous relief floods Jon’s face.

“That would be… amazing, Martin. Thank you. And yes, I think those are in the box on the kitchen counter.”

Martin heads to the kitchen, smiling while his back is turned to Jon. Jon is cute, he thinks. He’d been worried that he only remembered Jon as cute because of how sleep-deprived he’d been but, Jon is just… very pretty, he thinks. He grabs a glass from where Jon said they’d be, picks up what looks to be instructions to build a chair off the floor, then approaches the spider slowly, crouching next to it.

Gently, Martin starts to coax the spider with the leaflet towards the glass in his other hand.

As he’s doing this, he starts to speak, not looking at Jon.

“I’ve never really minded spiders. When I was a kid, if there was a spider in my room, I would name it and pretend it could understand me.”

Martin softly pushes the spider with the leaflet, and it slowly creeps closer to the glass.  
He continues, “My parents… weren’t around all that much, so um, I’d speak to spiders instead, I guess. And tell them about my day, things I’d learned, poems I’d thought up, things like that…”  
The spider finally enters the glass and Martin flips it around so that the spider is trapped inside it.

He looks up at Jon, feeling slightly embarrassed and not sure why he’s rambling on. “Sorry, that’s…a- a dumb thing for a kid to do.” (‘Creepy’ was the word his mother had used when she’d found out).

Jon shakes his head immediately. “Ah, no… I think that- that’s, quite sweet actually. God knows I hate the things but… I understand, um, being lonely. I dealt with it by reading, but talking to spiders sounds like a cooler way to spend that time.”

Jon is smiling, and Martin thinks that maybe his cheeks are just a touch redder than they were before. But then Martin thinks that his own skin must be practically glowing with how much he’s blushing. He stands up, glass covered by the leaflet in hand, and says, “I’ll just take it outside quickly, be right back!”

After releasing the spider into the patch of green that is their apartment complex’s small communal garden, Martin heads back up the stairs. He takes a second to compose himself before entering Jon’s flat again.

When he does, Jon is picking some papers off the ground and shoving them into an empty box, clearing up some space. He turns when he hears Martin come in.

“Thank you for that, Martin. I’m afraid I’m a bit useless when it comes to spiders,” he says as he shakes his head slightly.

“No, um, don’t worry about it- glad I could help. I also got your note so… I’m here to try and help out. And- and I’ve also brought some tea?” he says, waving towards the two mugs he’d brought up, “Although we might have to warm it up.”

Jon smiles. Martin thinks his heart might give out.

Jon says, “Tea would be lovely, Martin- thank you. I just need to figure out where I’ve packed my sugar.”

As Jon turns to start peeking into boxes in the kitchen, Martin notices that Jon is still wearing mismatched socks, but a different variation from yesterday. Today it’s one simple black sock, and one horrendously neon green one with the words “I went to Paris and all I got were these lousy socks” printed on it. 

Martin thinks that maybe, just maybe, he has a small crush on his neighbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many "um"s and "..."s can I add to the dialogue? A lot, is the answer.   
> We love awkward conversations xD
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Your comments are the best thing <3


	3. Chapter 3

Martin doesn’t see Jon for a week after that weekend. He’d helped Jon set up his Internet (pretending that it was harder than it really was, just to stay around his odd neighbor longer) and then they’d said ‘See you later!’, and that had been it.

It was to be expected really, Martin thinks. When he’d talked to Jon, he’d told him that he had moved because he had just started a new job with longer hours, so needed to be closer to his office. Martin hadn’t quite understood what exactly Jon’s job was. He was fairly certain it involved… organizing things? And research? And listening to people’s stories? Martin wasn’t sure what sort of job that might be, but he hadn’t wanted to pry. Jon had seemed stressed enough as it was when he talked about it.  
And Martin was starting a new job, too. After his mom had asked to be moved to a care home, Martin had realized that he could finally get as far away from his childhood as possible, and he’d taken that opportunity. He was an English teacher, so he’d transferred schools to one in London, away from everything he’d grown accustomed to. It was still mid-summer, so no classes yet, but Martin was already working on his curriculum, determined to make the end of the year a good one.

They have busy lives, Martin knows, of course they aren’t crossing each others’ path every single day. But… but Martin kind of wishes that they did.

So maybe that’s why Martin is just a little bit cheerful when their building’s fire alarm rings at 2 in the morning, and when he spots Jon outside of the front gates after evacuating. The rest of Martin’s neighbours look decidedly less happy about having had to leave their beds in the middle of the night, but for a moment Martin doesn’t really notice them. For a moment, Martin only notices Jon.

Martin didn’t think it could be possible, but Jon, somehow, looks more tired than the last time they met. The first time Martin had met Jon he’d looked exhausted, but he’d also had a nervous energy about him. Now he looks out of it, like he’s not sure how he ended up here and doesn’t have it in him to care. He’s also still fully dressed (though barefoot), unlike the rest of the building’s residents, including Martin. He’s wearing black pants and a rumpled beige shirt. Martin’s never seen him out of casual clothes before, and this Jon isn’t one he’s encountered yet.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Martin bridges the distance between them.   
Jon doesn’t seem to register his presence, his gaze stuck on something imperceptible in the distance.

As though he’s talking to a sleepwalker and taking care not to wake them, Martin softly says “Jon? Are you… okay?”

Jon blinks, and suddenly he’s looking at Martin, startled.

“Martin… What are you doing here?”

Unsure how to answer without sounding like Jon’s asked a dumb question, Martin just says, “Fire alarm?”

“Oh- oh yes of course, what a silly question. Sorry about that, by the way.” As he speaks, some of the Jon that Martin has grown more or less used to slips back in. That Jon looks a bit embarrassed.

“Sorry for…?” Martin asks, not sure he gets what Jon is saying.

“The, um, the fire alarm,” Jon says sheepishly, “That- that might have been me. Or rather that was definitely me, I suppose.”

“Are you… alright?” Martin asks, but he’s not really asking about the fire alarm. No, Martin wants to know why Jon looks like he’s been to hell and back within the space of just a few days.

That isn’t the question Jon answers.

“Yes, completely,” Jon responds. “I was making rice but then I got distracted by work and ah, well, all the water evaporated. There was no fire, thank god, just a lot of smoke.” He pauses for a second and then says, “Sorry for waking you up- again. I seem to have a talent for it.”

The fire alarm stops ringing then. Their landlord must have checked up on Jon’s flat and decided there was nothing to worry about. Everyone starts to trickle back into the building. Jon makes a move as if to head back in as well. 

Martin doesn’t want him to leave like this, looking anxious and tired.

“Jon!” he half says, half yells. His voice is too loud in the quiet night.

“Martin?” Jon says, his eyes fixed upon Martin’s.

Martin realizes he didn’t really think this whole thing through, and his mind races to figure out some excuse for his impulsiveness.

“Would you…like some tea?” is what he come up with. “I have some herbal tea, which might be more… appropriate, given the time? Or hot chocolate, if that’s something you’d prefer? It could warm us up a little, perhaps.”

It isn’t cold. It’s a summer’s night in London, so at most the air could be said to be slightly cool. Martin is usually a better liar than this, and he’s not sure why he’s so terrible at it with Jon.

But Jon doesn’t comment upon the weather. Thank god.

No, Jon says, “I would like that, Martin- if you’re sure you don’t mind, of course.”

A few minutes later, Martin is depositing a cup of chamomile tea (with a spoonful of honey stirred in), into Jon’s hand, before sitting opposite him at his kitchen table.

“Thank you,” Jon says, as his fingers curl around the mug.

Martin smiles, then asks the question he’d been itching to ask earlier, “Jon? You said you’d been working, um, before the fire alarm went off right?” 

Jon nods and Martin continues, “It’s- ah, it’s 2am Jon, have you had any sleep?”

Martin notices Jon’s fingers tighten around the mug slightly. There’s a moment of silence before Jon replies, his voice quiet, “It’s fine, I’m… alright, Martin- no, um, actually…” He hesitates, as though he isn’t sure how much to reveal. But it’s dark outside and the world is so, so quiet, and it feels like a time for revelations, so Jon says, “I’ve never been a good sleeper, but this week has been… especially bad, I think. It feels like there’s just so much to do, and so little time to do it. I mean Elias expects me to re-arrange the archives within a few months, but that’s just- that’s impossible. It’s a mess of papers and half-recorded statements and a bloody incomprehensible filing system, and I just can’t do it!”

Even Jon looks startled by how loud his voice come out. He looks down at his hands.

Martin can tell that he’s about to apologize for his tone, but he doesn’t let him. “So work has been difficult, then?”

“It’s, um, it’s been a lot, yes. But that’s no excuse, I just- I just need to figure some things out and work harder.”

Martin wants to tell Jon that ‘working harder’ seems like it might kill him at this point. He doesn’t. He thinks that the best thing to do is to let Jon talk, because right now Martin isn’t sure how he can help him. And Martin desperately wants to help the man in front of him.

“I’ve- you said you worked some sort of archival job? What do you do exactly?”

With that question, Jon seems to regain some confidence, as though it’s one that he’s used to and that he knows how to answer.

“I work for the Magnus Institute, which is, um, it’s a place where people come to tell us their stories. Specifically, we’re here to record people’s experiences with the supernatural and esoteric.”

“Supernatural as in… ghosts and monsters and such?” Martin asks.

“It sounds silly, I know. And most of the people who come to us don’t really have anything concrete to give us, but… it’s a job, it’s my job.”

Martin shakes his head immediately. 

“Ah, no, that sounds… interesting, actually.” Jon looks relieved at that, and Martin adds, “And it also sounds like it might be a lot for one person to handle… I don’t think I could listen to people tell me about the monsters they’ve encountered without- without taking some of those monsters home with me, if that makes sense?”

And it must have made sense, because Jon nods before replying, “I thought I’d be able to. Detach myself from people’s stories, I mean. But however crazy the things they tell me sound, however irrational… it’s hard not to think about them at night. I’m not much of a…’believer’ in these kinds of supernatural tales, but researching them all day every day is, um, it’s getting to me a little, I suppose.” 

Martin isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He wants to tell Jon that he understands the misery of overthinking in the dead of night, but he doesn’t want to talk about his mother right now. Instead, Martin digs out some boxes of cookies from his kitchen cabinets, arranges a few different varieties on a plate, and sets it down in front of Jon. In Martin’s experience, sometimes food and a hot drink are the perfect remedy to stress. They seem to do the trick here, and Martin’s heart aches as he sees how grateful Jon is for them.

They sit then, in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Jon rises, apologizes for keeping Martin up, and returns to his own flat.

It takes everything Martin has to stop himself from hugging Jon before he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!  
> Sorry this chapter took a while to upload!   
> I hope you guys appreciate Jon being a disaster of a human being and Martin being the cutest neighbour anyone could ask for!
> 
> Let me know what you think, your comments genuinely make my day when I read them! <3 <3 <3
> 
> (warning: things are about to get more angsty very soon O.o)


	4. Chapter 4

Martin is not feeling like himself. He wakes up in the morning, and he can feel tiredness like a weight on his chest. For Martin, not feeling like himself is not a novel feeling. In fact, it had been a… good thing, when he was still living with his mother. A decent coping mechanism, really.

If he got too sad, or too anxious, or too angry- then sometimes he would just lose track of himself for a little bit. It was like a thick fog settled over him and drowned out the rest of the world. And back then it was… comfortable. But right now, Martin really, really wishes he could just get over it. 

Really, really wishes he could get over it, because he feels like a failure. Yes, he’d left some bad memories behind when he moved, but he still feels so lonely. He hadn’t had many friends back home, but in London there is truly no one he feels like he could turn to right now.

The one person he’s been speaking to on a semi-regular basis is Jon, but…but Jon looks stressed enough as it is. Besides, Martin isn’t quite sure that he and Jon even are friends. 

The day passes agonizingly slowly, and it’s not until late in the evening that the fog in Martin’s mind begins to lift, just a little. He still isn’t feeling quite like himself, but the weight on his brain has lightened just enough that Martin can force his body out of bed and into his kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. 

He fills his kettle up, and waits for the water to boil. As it heats up, he takes a mug out and places a bag of his favorite tea in, along with a spoonful of sugar. The kettle hisses. It is the loudest noise Martin has heard all day, and it startles him for a moment. Loud is good though. Loud is much, much better than the dullness and monotony the rest of the day has been filled with. He fills up his mug, then goes to the fridge to get milk, and-

Shit.

No milk.

Because Martin was meant to do his weekly shop today. 

Martin curses at himself, and that anger too, is good. Because it is fierce and piercing. It’s silly, but Martin is glad for it, glad for anything that isn't grey and muted.

And maybe it is because Martin is still not feeling quite like himself that before he can change his mind, he is at Jon’s door. 

He knocks, knowing that if he hesitates for just a moment, he never will.

While he waits for an answer, he realizes that he can hear Jon speaking inside. His voice is low, and intense, and nervous. Maybe he’s with someone, Martin thinks.

But after just a few seconds, Jon stops talking, and Martin hears footsteps approaching the door.

And then Jon is there. Martin hasn’t been this happy to see anyone in a long time.

“Sorry, um, to come knocking out of the blue…Were you with someone?” His voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. It’s the first words he’s said today, and the lack of water hasn’t quite helped.

Jon shakes his head immediately. “Oh, no, don’t worry, Martin. I was just… recording a statement for work, nothing more.” As he speaks, he opens the door a little wider, and Martin can see a mess of papers on the floor of his flat, with what looks to be… a tape recorder amongst them.

Jon watches Martin for a moment. He must spot something worrying, because his next words are, “Come on in, Martin”.

Martin wonders what tipped him off. Was it his messy hair? The stubble he didn’t have the energy to shave? The wrinkled pajamas? The return of the teddy bear slippers? The fact that Martin has shown up without a word and with a mug as his only excuse? All of the above?

Still, Martin gives him a small grateful nod and steps in.

“I’m sorry it’s so late. I’ve… I’ve just run out of milk and thought you might still be up? I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Again, Jon shakes his head. He seems to be having some sort of internal debate as he observes Martin. Finally, he appears to settle his own dilemma.

“Ah, um- you could stay, for a bit. If you wanted- of course.” The words stumble out of him. Jon speaks so quickly that Martin has to take a second to put the sentence together. Even once he does, Martin is convinced he must have heard Jon wrong.

He manages to stammer out, “Oh, I couldn’t… It’s…um, it’s late. I’m sure you’d prefer to get some rest.” 

Martin is very proud of himself for saying anything at all (he’s hyper-aware of the heat creeping up his cheeks).

“Martin, I know we’ve only seen each other a few times, but, ah…I think we both know that my sleeping schedule leaves something to be desired. I’ll be awake for a while longer, so… it’s really no bother.” Jon chuckles, and it’s all that Martin needs for the rest of the fog in his mind to dissipate. Martin thinks that that chuckle is the prettiest sound he’s heard in a long while.

Jon doesn’t wait for Martin to reply, and heads into his kitchen.

“Milk, right?” he calls back.

Martin nods, and follows Jon inside. He can’t help but notice that Jon’s flat hasn’t changed all that much since the first time he saw it. There’s less styrofoam and empty boxes, yes, but it’s still very empty (populated mostly by piles of folders and papers).

Jon grabs some milk out of the fridge and hands it to Martin.

Then he says, “Actually, er, I meant to ask you, Martin…”. He hesitates for a moment before continuing, sounding a little embarrassed, “Which brand of tea do you use? I’ve been, um, testing out a few this week, but I can’t quite find one that tastes like what you made me the other day.”

As he’s talking, Jon waves a hand towards his kitchen counter, where Martin can spot three boxes of tea, all different brands. The one that he made Jon when he first moved in is there.

It isn’t a question Martin expected, but it’s a welcome one. Tea is very much within his comfort zone. He smiles (really smiles) for the first time today, and points at the right brand.

“Really?” Jon says. “It’s just- I couldn’t really get it to taste right.”

Jon looks flustered at his admission. He picks the box of tea up, and stares at it as though it has personally betrayed him. As he looks down, a strand of hair escapes his ponytail and covers some of his face. He’s beautiful, Martin thinks. Martin’s heartbeat hastens. Crap.

Martin thinks that maybe today can still be a good day.

With that thought in mind, he says, “I could… make some for you? Um, now, if you wanted? It’s the least I can do.”

Jon smiles and hands him the box.

Yes, today can still be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was just meant to be angsty but the fluff still showed up :P  
> The one thing I love more than Martin watching out for Jon, is Jon taking care of Martin T.T
> 
> I hope you liked it! <3  
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think! It means so much to me! <3


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m sorry you’re always the one making me tea, Martin,” Jon says as Martin sets a steaming cup on the table in front of him. “As soon as I manage to make a cup that isn’t…dreadful, I’ll, um, repay the favour, of course.”

Martin smiles at that as he sits down opposite to Jon, but he struggles to find the words to reply. He’s still trying to get used to actually feeling things for the first time today, and truth be told, it’s a little overwhelming.

And maybe Jon can tell, because he asks, “I-um, are you… alright Martin? I don’t mean to pry, but ah- you looked a bit… lost, earlier? When you knocked?”

Jon’s voice is full of hesitation, like he’s worried about saying the wrong thing. In the spaces between his words, in his moments of hesitation, it’s like Martin can see whatever it is that seems to link them together, like a frail string, just hanging there between the two of them. But maybe he’s just imagining it. 

Martin manages another smile and says, voice low and soft, “I’m… okay, Jon. I didn’t mean to worry you…”

Martin is glad his hands are in his lap, below the table, so that Jon can’t see them twist and turn with embarrassment.

He continues, “Somedays I just, feel a little er… out of myself, I suppose? But- but I’m feeling better now, like I’m a bit more grounded, more real…” Martin stops, then his cheeks flush bright red as he adds, “Sorry, I realize that- that that probably makes no sense… Point is, that I’m feeling more like myself now. Talking tends to help, so… thank you Jon- for uh… for this.” With that, Martin gestures at the table vaguely. As though maybe Jon might see what Martin sees. As though maybe Jon can also see how the mugs on the table are more than just tea. As though Jon might also be able to discern this fragile connection between them. It’s a silly thought.  
And yet, Jon nods steadfastly, like it all makes sense. “That’s- I’m glad you’re feeling better, Martin.”

Martin wonders if it would be strange to ask Jon not to say his name like that. Like ‘Martin’ is more than just name. Like ‘Martin’ is something that matters to Jon. It’s making his heart beat so loudly he thinks Jon must hear it within his otherwise silent apartment.

As he’s weighing the pros and cons of making that request though, Jon’s phone begins to vibrate angrily on the table.

He glances down at it and immediately groans, “Fuck”.

It’s the first time Martin has heard Jon swear, and he’s not sure his heart can take that on too. Pull yourself together, he thinks to himself.

Jon grabs his phone. “Sorry, I-uh, I’ve got to take this.”

Martin stands and picks up his mug, ready to head out to give Jon some privacy, but he shakes his head, “This shouldn’t take long. You can always count on Elias to go for a short and sweet-veiled insult.”

Martin isn’t too sure who this Elias is, although he thinks Jon might have mentioned him before. Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of him though, so whoever he is, Martin decides that he also hates Elias with a passion. He sits back down, curiosity taking over.

Jon gives him a quick smile, which dissolves into a sigh as he answers the phone.

“Elias?” he says, his voice not betraying his apparent annoyance.

Martin can’t quite make out the other side of the conversation, although the voice on the other end sounds polite and clipped. He listens to Jon though, and realizes this is the first time he’s seeing Jon talk to someone other than him. He’s… different with others it seems, or at least with Elias. He seems more confident somehow. His voice takes on posher notes. It’s as if it is an armor Jon is putting up to deal with his job.

Jon listens to the voice on the other side of the phone for a few seconds, before pressing a hand to his forehead, and breathing in.

“Statement 2450399, right? Tim is doing some follow up on it- last I heard from him he’d found some landlord he could sedu- um, talk to in order to get additional details.”

There is another pause as Jon listens, and Martin can see his free hand tighten into a fist on the table.

“Yes… apparently some neighbors had been complaining about, and I quote, “insect larvae squirming beneath his front door”, so that is what Tim is looking into.”

Elias’ next reply is short. Martin can’t hear any of the words clearly, but what he can hear is the authority in the man’s voice.

Jon seems to deflate at it, then apparently caves in to whatever demands Elias has made of him. “Yes, Elias, of course I can come in on the weekend to sort out Gertrude’s notes on this. That's... not a problem. Good evening.”

He hangs up, and for a moment there is an odd tension in the air. Like Jon is not back to being the Jon Martin knows yet- like he’s in the middle of taking off a mask.

Martin refuses to let that tension hang. “Well, he, ah- he sounds rather fun?”

Jon chuckles, “He’s a pompous pain in the ass, is what he is. But, he is my boss, so what can you do?”

There is still a smile playing on Jon’s lips, and Martin thinks that maybe he’s been staring at those for a little too long, so he stammers, “So-um… larvae?”

If Martin was trying to flirt with his lovely neighbor Jon, he thinks that “larvae” would be an absolutely awful thing to bring up. But- but Martin is not (definitely not) trying to flirt, so he (definitely) isn’t kicking himself mentally over his question.

“Larvae indeed,” Jon says, before launching into a complicated, and to be quite frank, both horrendous and incredibly gross, story about the most recent supernatural tale he’s researching.

And while Martin squirms at the picture Jon paints of this case, he is also confident that coming to find Jon tonight was the best decision he could have made today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff in these trying times xD
> 
> On a more serious note, I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy <3
> 
> I hope you guys are still enjoying this! Leave a comment to let me know what you think! <3


	6. Chapter 6

There is a note right besides Martin’s front door today. He can’t help but feel a little bit excited when he sees it. It isn’t like there are a lot of people it could be from. Martin doesn’t have an abundance of people in his life who slip notes under his door. 

Martin doesn’t have an abundance of people in his life, full stop.

He doesn’t waste time on that thought though, and reaches down for the slip of paper.

“Martin, I meant to ask this last week when you came up, but it slipped my mind. Could we possibly exchange phone numbers? I just thought that we might need a more efficient way to talk in case of any more spider and/or tea-related emergencies. If you don’t mind, of course. Jon.”

The small request is followed by a phone number.

Martin thanks the gods that no one is here to see him smile like a fool. No one is here to witness how he practically races to his room to grab his phone and enter Jon’s number in. Sometimes living alone has its perks. 

Having Jon’s number brings a whole new set of dilemmas for Martin though. What should he save Jon’s name as? Should he message Jon right now? Or is it too soon? Is Jon an emoji-type of person? His notes suggest he isn’t, but what does Martin know?

Still, Martin settles for ‘Jon (upstairs)’ as a contact name (Martin doesn’t know enough Jons for the ‘upstairs’ to be needed, but it’s… nice to know that Jon is right there), and sends his first message to him before he can fall further down the spiral of overthinking. Okay, fine, maybe he sends a few messages in a row. And maybe thinking them through at least a little bit more would’ve helped to make him sound less idiotic.

“Hi :)”  
“I just saw your note.”  
“Oh, it’s me by the way.”  
“Not that I’m assuming that you slip notes under a lot of people’s doors, so of course you know that it’s me.”  
“Me as in Martin, sorry.”

Yes, a little bit of thought would’ve been appreciated here, Martin thinks. He wonders how suspicious it would be to delete all of his messages and start over. He’s an English teacher for god’s sake, he should probably be a little bit better at using his words.

His thoughts are cut short when three little dots appear by Jon’s name in the chat.

“Hi. I’m glad you got my note.”

Ah, so Jon is a “full sentences and proper punctuation” type of person then, Martin thinks. Of course he is. Unsure what to say that would not sound like he is just looking for any opportunity to talk, Martin puts his phone down, and gets back to preparing possible activities for his class. 

He still has a month or two to go before actually meeting the students he’ll be teaching, but he’s already eager to start the year. Teaching will help, he knows, with how he’s been feeling this summer- will give him something to focus on, other than the non-existent phone calls from his mother and cooking meals for one and his lonely apartment. 

Becoming a teacher is what had saved him in the first place. It had given him a sense of purpose when his mother got sick and he’d had to move back home right after earning his qualified teacher status. It had been an escape from his child-hood home which felt all too small, even though it was just him and his mother. Classrooms were noisy and vibrant. Students were enthusiastic and eager (although not always about learning their cursus). School was where Martin didn’t feel like he was being suffocated by the thick fog which rolled over him in waves at home. And Martin enjoyed talking to his students, cherished reading their essays and poems, showing them how poetry could be something more than bland and repetitive. 

Martin doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until his phone rings. The carers at his mother’s retirement home usually only call on weekends. It’s a Tuesday. “Maybe something is wrong”, is the thought Martin’s mind immediately races to. Maybe she’s ill, or maybe something worse has happened. Before he panics any further, he’s reached for his phone and read the name displayed on the screen: Jon (upstairs).

He lets out a breath.

His voice sounds frailer than he’d like it to be when he finally answers.

“Jon?”

All that he hears on the other end of the line is shuffling. It’s muted, as though someone is holding fabric over the phone. It doesn’t take Martin long to figure out that it must be a butt-dial. He chuckles, and he’s about to hang up when he realizes that the noises he is hearing aren’t all just shuffling. There’s a voice beneath them, slightly muffled, but there. 

“-ims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.” It’s Jon’s voice, as Martin expected. It’s more serious than Martin’s heard it before though, save for that time Jon spoke to his boss. Martin should hang up. He knows he should hang up. And yet he’s curious about what this version of Jon is like, curious about the stories he records. A few more seconds can’t hurt, can they? 

And so Martin keeps the phone against his ear, straining to hear Jon’s muffled voice. Jon is… telling a story, it seems. His voice is low, and while it starts off steady and assured, as the tale he is telling progresses, it become taut and on-edge. By the end of it, Jon sounds positively terrified- his voice perfectly matching the words he is reading: an old man, alone in a big empty house, listening out for whatever is attempting to get to him at night. 

It isn’t until Martin hears the words, ‘statement ends’ that he snaps out of whatever trance he’s been in. He hangs up the phone immediately, feeling like he’s intruded on a part of Jon’s life he has no right to. His heart is pounding, and it takes him a few minutes to come back to himself, to steady his breath, to recognize that the fear he is feeling is not his own.

So, this is what Jon does. 

It’s no wonder he has trouble sleeping, Martin thinks. Martin recalls the circles under Jon’s eyes, the strands of white hair amongst the rest, and he feels something heavy settle in his gut- worry and pity and a desire to help, in whichever way he can.

For now, all he can do is send a message.

“I’ve entirely miscalculated the cookie recipe I’m following.”  
“Please save me from this mountain of cookies and come take some with you when you get back tonight.”

It’s a small lie, but Martin doesn’t want Jon to feel like he’s intruding if he wants to talk. He wants to give Jon a place to go to after… that. Martin figures that at least this way he’ll get to see Jon today, make sure that he’s okay. Maybe have him sit down and have a few cookies and some tea- and a bit of conversation.

Martin sets about making the best cookies he’s ever baked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just here to sprinkle some sadness over this little story!  
> More angst to come soon (as the lines between Jon's home and work life begin to blur) O.o
> 
> Let me know what you think! Your comments honestly make my day! <3
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay with everything going on <3
> 
> EDIT (4th June)- Hello hello! I know this fic hasn't been updated in a while >.> Exams took over my life for a bit there, but there should be an update pretty soon! <3 Thank you for being patient with me <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa I'm very sorry this took so long to update! Uni took over my life for a bit, but today's episode just motivated me to write again!

It’s about two weeks later that Martin wakes up at 2am to the sound of someone racing up the stairs of his apartment building. That alone isn’t too unusual. There are a few university students renting flats in the floors above his, and he can often hear them coming in from their nights out. What is unusual though, is that whoever just raced up the stairs is now racing back down.

There are knocks at Martin’s door. A strange feeling settles over Martin, like a wave of dread washing over him. He rises from his bed, pressing his palms to his eyes to try and push the sleep out of them. The knocks don’t stop. If anything, they get more insistent. 

Martin looks through the peephole, not about to open the door to some drunk students who are too out of it to find their own flat. But it’s not a university student outside his door. It’s Jon.

Martin hand is twisting the doorknob within a second of recognizing his neighbor. 

Something feels wrong. 

As soon as the door is unlocked, Jon pushes it open from outside and throws himself into Martin’s flat. 

He looks…He looks like nothing Martin has seen before. Like someone running for their lives. His breathing is heavy and slightly choked, as though he’s been hyperventilating for so long that his throat is dry. Jon doesn’t look at Martin, doesn’t speak, at first. Just stares around Martin’s apartment wildly.

“Jon?” Martin asks.

“Towels, Martin, where do you keep your towels? Or- or even, a tea towel might do, supposing they can’t chew through cotton…”

“I-um,” Martin hesitates, and then, because he doesn’t know what else to do, runs to his bathroom to grab all the towels he has and hands them to Jon. 

There are so many questions he wants to ask, but he forces himself to keep them in for a second. Just until Jon stops looking so bloody panicked.

Jon grabs the towels out of his hands and presses them beneath Martin’s front door, completely covering up what little space there is between the door and the floor. Jon checks the peephole, then steps away from the door, staring at it as though it might swallow him up any second.

“Jon?” Martin repeats. Martin’s heart is pounding too. Whatever fear is animating Jon is contagious, and Martin feels himself panicking as well, though unable to point out why. 

When Jon doesn’t respond, Martin walks to him and places himself between Jon and the door. Jon’s eyes are distant for a second (wild and scared and wide) and then his gaze shifts and focuses onto Martin.

He opens his mouth then shuts it, like he isn’t sure where to start.

Martin asks the only question that matters to him right now: “Are you okay, Jon?”

Finally, Jon stammers out, “I’m… alright, yes. I think. That was just- I didn’t mean to…”  
His breathing quickens again, and suddenly it’s as though he’s struggling with an over-abundance of words rather than an absence of them.

Martin places a hand on his arm, and says, “Jon, whatever is going on, it’s okay now, alright? You-you’re safe here.”

“I- I’m so sorry Martin. I never would’ve come here, but- but she was at my door. Or-or at least I think that was her. I don’t know, Tim wasn’t the clearest on his descriptions…but surely there isn’t an abundance of women with worms crawling out of their skin in this part of London.”

The words stumble out of Jon, and as they do, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, as though whatever adrenaline has been keeping him up evaporates. Martin sinks to the ground with him. His hand remains on Jon’s arm.

“Worms? Jon- I’m not… I’m not sure I understand…Is somebody following you?” Martin forces his voice to stay calm. His tone is the one he’s practiced as a teacher. It’s his ‘I can tell that you are upset and I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t understand what is happening’ voice. Or at least that’s what Martin hopes it comes off across as.

Jon’s breathing is still shallow and hummingbird fast. Martin slowly places his other hand on Jon’s shoulder and presses down softly. Sometimes pressure helps Martin when he loses himself a bit, brings him back to reality. Maybe it can help Jon. Sure enough, Jon leans into the pressure, ever so slightly. Martin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

For a while, they stay there, silent and close. Eventually, Jon begins breathing normally again. Eventually, he raises his head to look at Martin. Eventually, he speaks.

“Martin, this is going to sound…far-fetched, but I need you to listen to me,” Jon says. It takes Martin a second to realize that Jon is waiting for him to respond, and when he does, he simply nods. Jon sighs before continuing. “There is a woman at the door. I don’t know- I don’t know how long she is going to stay there, but we cannot open that door, okay? No matter what. And the towels have to stay as well. She’s… I think the best way to describe it is that she’s infested, and she wants to get to us. Or rather she wants to get to me. It’s my fault for coming here. I was doing some follow-up at some other apartment for work, and the worms were there, and they tried to attack me so- so I ran home but she was at my door. She was just… waiting for me. And I didn’t know what to do, so I came here but Martin I’m very, very sorry you’ve been involved in-”

Martin cuts him off and shakes his head, “Jon, stop. It’s… it’s okay that you came here. I’d rather that you be in here than out there with... whatever you’re running from.” 

Martin can hear the fear in his own voice. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, like this is one of those moments when everything changes. He’s had a few of those in his life. The fear is familiar. It had been there when his father left. When his mother got sick. When he entered his new flat for the first time. And now, now it seeps deep into his bones and makes everything feel wrong.

Holding onto Jon, Martin makes the choice to step into the precipice, to allow his life to change.

“Jon, tell me what’s happening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get real :P
> 
> This chapter was so fun to write but also quite challenging because I don't know how to write action? And scary things? All I know is angst and fluff but nothing in between xD  
> But I hope you still like it!
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know what you think, they always make me so happy! <3  
> I hope everyone is staying safe <3


	8. Chapter 8

There is a knock at the door.

It isn’t the first. While Jon had told Martin what he knew about Jane Prentiss (which wasn’t much), the knocks had been regular and persistent.

Martin starts to get to his feet, but Jon clutches his arm before he is fully up. 

“Martin…” he says. His voice is low and it sounds so very tired.

As soon as Martin lowers his head to look at Jon, halfway through standing up, the other man lets go of his arm. 

“Ah- sorry,” Jon stammers, “I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Martin stares down at the spot where Jon’s hand was a second ago. He feels a blush rise up his face, and he hates himself a little bit for getting embarrassed at the touch when there is very literally a creature waiting to hurt them just a few meters away. 

It’s strange, Martin thinks, how much has changed in just a few minutes. But then, finding out that monsters are not only real but also that they are out to get you will do that. But it’s not like Martin is about to let the monster Jon called ‘Jane Prentiss’ inside. It’s just that Martin has just about had it with the silence that followed Jon’s explanation, a silence punctuated only by the incessant knocking. 

Martin finishes standing up. “I’m not going to open the door, but I- ah, I just need to…see her, I think? I believe you, and I believe everything you’ve told me about her, but I need to see it for myself?” He doesn’t mean for them to, but his words come out as a question. 

Jon is quiet for a moment, and Martin sees worry in his eyes. It’s…odd to have someone worry about him. Martin is usually the one doing all the worrying, and yet here is Jon, looking so concerned that Martin is half-tempted to pull him into a hug.

“There are some things it is better not to see, Martin. I um- I’m…familiar with horrors but you…” Jon struggles to find his words for a moment before saying, “What I mean is that I- I don’t want to drag you into the world I work in, and ah, if you witness something like this it’ll be… difficult for you to just move on…”

Martin thinks that perhaps it’s quite sad that he would rather see the monster outside his door than not. More than one of his ex-boyfriends had called him self-destructive. And really they had been right to, back then. But Martin is pretty sure that what he is doing right now is the opposite of self-destructive. Maybe like Jon says he’ll never be able to leave this new world Jon inhabits. But Martin thinks that he would rather face the horrors and be in Jon’s world, than live outside of it all and remain alone. 

So Martin nods to Jon, to let him know that he understands what he’s saying, and then walks up to the door to gaze out of the peephole.

He stumbles back almost immediately, suddenly feeling like the few centimeters of wood and paint separating them from Jane are much too thin. The image doesn’t leave his mind even once he’s stepped away, though. Jon had described her as infested, yet infested seems too normal a word to capture what she is. There are so many gaps and holes in her flesh that it is a wonder she is still standing. And she is tall, taller than Martin thinks she has any right to be since there is so little of her and so much of the squirming worms. Before the panic can overtake him though, there is a hand at his back, steadying him.

I am not alone, Martin thinks. I am not the only one who is afraid. He turns to Jon, who lowers his hand down to his side.

There are a lot of things that Martin wants to say. Things about gratitude and confronting fears and companionship. None of them seem quite right. So instead he focuses on the practical aspects of their situation.

“I… the door…Maybe we could push something in front of it? Just in case?” as he speaks, Martin heads towards a chest of drawers where he stores all of his teaching materials. It’s heavy and sturdy and tall, and seems like a stronger barrier than the thin door.  
Jon immediately moves to help him push it so that it stands in front of the door. They are both breathing heavily by the time they are done.

Still recovering his breath, Jon says, “That-that was a good idea, Martin. The more things between us and her the better, I think.” With that, Jon gives Martin a weak smile. Martin wonders if there will ever be a day when he sees Jon and the man doesn’t look on the brink of collapse from fatigue. Today is definitely not that day.

“Good,” Martin says, “That’s…good, yes. Is there, ah, anyone we could call? To help? Like…the police? Maybe? Or…someone?”

Jon frowns, as though he’s just remembering something, and grabs his phone from his pocket. “I called Elias- um, my boss, on my way to the apartment but he ah, hasn’t answered yet. I’ll message again now but he isn’t really one for technology- says he likes to see the people he’s talking to. I- I have assistants as well but… I don’t want them to be in danger because of me,” Jon stops, wincing at his words. “Sorry, that was a bit… hypocritical of me. I’ve placed you in danger already so…”

“No- no I understand. Better not get anyone involved who doesn’t need to be. Maybe…maybe we see what happens tomorrow? If…Elias doesn’t answer then we’ll call your assistants?”

Jon nods, then continues, “As for the police, Elias has told me that they don’t tend to get involved in Institute matters. They’ve got… protocols when dealing with us. I, uh, I’m really sorry, but from what Elias has said the cops should be a…’a last resort’, were the words he used I believe.” 

Martin sighs. He presses the palms of his hands against his closed eyes. “Okay, okay, okay…okay, that’s fine. We’re going to be just fine. We’re okay, and we are going to be okay, and everything is fine…,” Martin says in more of a whisper than anything else. 

He hears Jon step away from him, but keeps his eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe normally, to keep the panic at bay. Less than a minute later the steps return. Martin opens his eyes to see Jon approaching, his arms full of pillows and what Martin recognizes to be his duvet. 

Jon sets everything down on the floor before saying, “I hope you don’t mind, but I got these from you bedroom… I- um, it’s going to be a long night I think, so we might as well be… comfortable, if-if that’s even a word that applies to this situation.”

Martin never had slumber parties as a child. His mother would never allow him to invite the few friends he had to his house and was even more reluctant to let Martin leave for the night. Even then, this is the sorriest excuse for a sleepover he could imagine. A small laugh leaves his lips before Martin can hold it back. 

Jon looks at the barricaded door, then at the pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, then finally at Martin. He lets out a chuckle as well. “This… This is probably not the way you were expecting your night to go, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little does Jane know she is providing for some quality bonding time xD   
> Is there anything better than shared fear to further relationships? In this fic, no :P
> 
> I hope you guys liked this chapter! Leave a comment to let me know what you think <3
> 
> P.S: I am sorry no one has received a hug yet, but hugs are approaching, do not worry <3


	9. Chapter 9

Martin and Jon have settled on the floor. It had taken them a bit of time to make the hard floor semi-comfortable, and Martin had ended up dragging his mattress out of his bedroom to set it on the floor a few meters away from the door. Jon had helped with this, of course, but… but while Martin knew that Jon was strong (he had to be, to do the job he did), that strength did not rest in his physical capabilities. By the time they had finished moving the bed, Jon was breathing heavily, and Martin had told him to sit down while he got them both something to drink. 

Martin had made Jon some tea, and some hot chocolate for himself. Both cups are now resting precariously on a tray (really just a book) between the two of them. 

The fear hasn’t left them though.

Even now that they are both sat down, Martin can see Jon nervously clenching and unclenching his fists, his gaze rarely leaving the door for more than a moment. And Martin can feel the terror pushing down on his own lungs, refusing to let itself be ignored. But it isn’t like there is much either of them can do about it.

Finally, Jon manages to tear his eyes from the door to glance down at the book between them for the first time.

“Martin, you read… Keats?” 

Martin can’t tell what is more surprising: the fact that this is the topic Jon has chosen to break the silence with, or the puzzled (if not judgmental) expression on Jon’s face.  
“I…do?” Martin responds, unsure what Jon is expecting. “Do you?” he adds, wanting to keep the conversation going and in dire need of something other than his anxiety to focus on.

“Oh, god no,” Jon replies immediately, before seemingly regretting his choice of words. “I mean,” he stammers, “I’m just… not much of a poetry person, I suppose?”

The way he pronounces the word “poetry” reminds Martin of his students when they are handed their reading list for the year. For a moment Martin forgets about the monster at his door. “I- you can’t…” Martin sputters, “you cannot just not be a poetry person, Jon. It’s possible not to like a poem, or even a poet, but- but, saying you don’t like poetry is… It’s as if I said I didn’t like vegetables when really what I don’t like are Brussel sprouts.”

Jon looks stunned.

Great job, Martin thinks to himself, lecturing your crush about poetry while being stalked by an actual monster is definitely the romantic approach to take. But then Jon laughs. He really does have the loveliest laugh. Martin thinks it is a little ironic that Jon, a man who should have poems written about him, does not appreciate poetry.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, struggling to speak as he laughs, “I just- I wasn’t expecting poetry to be such a heated topic for you.”

“I’m an English teacher!” Martin exclaims in feigned outrage. As he speaks, the cups between them rattle, their already fragile balance on top of the book and the mattress broken. Both Martin and Jon reach for them at the same time. Their fingers touch, briefly, before they each pull their hands away swiftly.

Martin clears his throat, but does not speak. 

At the door, Jane Prentiss knocks.

Martin turns to face the door again, the terror coiling in his stomach as he is once more reminded of their situation. Too focused on what is waiting for them outside, Martin does not notice Jon’s hand reaching for his on the mattress. It is only once Jon’s hand has clasped his own gently that Martin’s attention is pulled away from the door. He looks down at the mattress then up at Jon’s face. When their eyes meet, Jon holds on a little tighter. 

I love you, Martin thinks. Then immediately thanks the universe that he didn’t say it out loud. Mainly because Martin doesn’t think that he is, in fact, in love. He barely knows the man holding his hand now, could count on maybe two hands the number of times they’ve talked. He can’t be in love. No, it is just that Martin had been so lonely in London and that Jon was the first person he felt like he could talk to. It is just that Jon is kind, and caring, and Martin has not had an abundance of people like that in his life. It is just that Martin wishes Jon would never let go of his hand. That isn’t love. 

And yes, perhaps the mugs between them are all that stop Martin from pulling Jon into a hug, but that is only because of the creature at their door. It isn’t because Martin’s crush is much more than a crush. 

Martin does not remove his hand from Jon’s though. Not even as they begin to speak again, awkwardly at first, then finding a rhythm that is only interrupted by Jane’s incessant knocking. Not even when he falls asleep leaning against Jon’s shoulder hours later, his tiredness catching up to him. If anything, Martin grips onto Jon’s hand more tightly then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legally, I think that Martin and Jon are required to have more sleepovers <3
> 
> Did I write this because I am scared of what S5 holds for them and I need them to spend some quality time together? Yes, 100%.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter!! Leave a comment to let me know what you think, they truly make my day! <33


	10. Chapter 10

Martin did not think it would be possible to fall asleep while an eldritch creature stalked outside his door, but apparently anything was possible if he was tired enough. Although perhaps sleep was a strong word for it. 

For Martin, the night was more of a series of hazy moments, punctuated only by brief periods of awareness or of unconsciousness. The first time he opened his eyes after dozing off, it was to find his head resting against Jon’s shoulder, his hand in the other man’s hand. But Martin barely had time to process this closeness before drowsiness took him away once more. The next time he awoke, he was lying curled onto his side. Just a centimeter or two from his face was Jon, whose body on the mattress mirrored Martin’s. Their foreheads were nearly touching, and Martin could not remember the last time he had felt so far from loneliness. His eyelids felt heavy and fluttered closed once more, and when they opened next, Jon’s head was tucked beneath Martin’s chin. Martin could feel Jon’s breath on his neck. A distant part of him noted that Jon smelled like antique books and wool and coffee. Martin did not move, did not try to disentangle his limbs from Jon’s, for fear that if this was a dream he would surely shatter it by moving.

And then there is light filtering through the window, and there is the low rumble of cars in the street below, and there is a knock at the door. It startles Martin awake only because it is so distinctly unfamiliar. It is not Jane’s unhurried knocking- not the patient knocks of a monster who knows all it needs to do is wait. No. This knock is more urgent, and loud, and Martin can hear each of the knuckles hitting the wood of the door in succession.

It’s only as Martin sits up that he realizes that Jon must have woken up before he did (which is a small mercy- it means Martin can avoid thinking about how close they were on the small mattress). Jon is sitting on the edge of the bed, his whole body tense, his gaze focused on the door.

Martin attempts to find his voice, but before he can make out an eloquent “Jon?”, the person on the other side of the door speaks up.

“Hello? Jon, are you in there?” The voice is crisp and posher than Martin has heard in a while. It reminds him of the voice of the pastor from the church he used to attend with his mother, or the self-assured tone of some of his old university lecturers. 

Jon is up in seconds, and Martin scrambles to rise too.

“Jon?” Martin whispers, unsure whether he wants to make his presence known to the person on the other side of the door.

Jon turns to face him (all rumpled clothes and tangled hair and tired eyes), and gives him a reassuring nod. “Martin-hi, I think… I think my boss it at the door.”

Martin frowns slightly before asking, “And Jane?”

Jon opens his mouth, but the man outside the door answers in his stead. Clearly Martin did not speak softly enough.

“Jane Prentiss is gone. If you would let me in, Jon, we could discuss it further. I’m not particularly fond of the worms outside your door.”

At that, Jon heads towards the door. “We’ve ah- we’ve barricaded the door as well as we could, so this might take a minute.” 

Martin moves to help Jon undo their makeshift barrier. They work in silence, and Martin wonders what would be an appropriate thing to say to the man he hid away from a monster with- to the man he fell asleep next to. Martin decides that sometimes there are no perfect words, and he stays quiet. 

Once they have moved the chest of drawers away from the door, Jon turns the handle. Martin lets out a breath he did not realize he had been holding when he sees that the man outside the door is just a man. Albeit an obnoxiously well-dressed man, but a man nonetheless. Not a worm-riddled creature.

“Elias,” says Jon, and Martin can hear the relief in his voice (and the exhaustion). 

The tall blonde man steps inside. As he does, his well-polished shoes crush the few pale worms remaining on the threshold. Elias grimaces slightly, before closing the door behind them as he enters the flat. 

“Well,” Elias says coolly, eyeing them both, “it seems as though both of you have had an unpleasant night.”

Martin suddenly understands why Jon always seems irritated when discussing his boss. But before he can find a semi-polite way to tell Elias what he thinks about his loose understanding of the term “unpleasant”, Elias has extended a hand towards him.

“Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute,” he says, “and you are… Jon’s neighbor, if I understood his messages correctly?”

Automatically, Martin shakes his hand. “Martin, yes. Jon’s flat is, um, right above mine.”

The handshake reminds him of the first time he’d met Jon, but the man before him has a very different air about him than Jon did. Amongst other things, Martin cannot imagine Elias in mismatched socks.

“Martin,” says Elias, “I suppose I have you to thank for taking in my archivist last night and rescu-” 

“Elias,” interrupts Jon, “Where’s Jane?”

Elias’s lips form a thin smile, as though he is unused to being interrupted. “She was… gone, when I arrived. Only left a few worms behind. Dreadful things, aren’t they?” he says, before adding, “Speaking of, were you injured, Jon?”

Jon looks surprised at the question. Martin can’t tell if it is because he wasn’t expecting concern from Elias, or if it is because Jon is not used to people looking after him (Martin does not like either of those options). Jon still replies, “I- no, I wasn’t. Managed to outrun her long enough to get back here.” 

Elias is quiet for a moment before saying, “I’m glad to hear that.” For a millisecond, Martin is certain that he hears disappointment in his voice. But perhaps his dislike for the man is coloring his views.

Whatever Martin may have heard, Jon does not seem disturbed by Elias’s tone. Instead, Jon begins to speak fast, “But Elias, it could’ve been Tim or Sasha doing this follow up, and I- I was lucky to have a place to go to, but there were so many ways this could have gone disastrously.” His breathing quickens, and Martin wishes he had it in himself to hold Jon’s hand, to give him some support. But there is no longer a monster at the door, and Martin cannot think of a way he could justify it. Jon continues, “We can’t- I mean I don’t think that we can just proceed as usual if um, if there is a chance for statements to have such…truth to them, and-”

“Jon,” Elias says, “Of course we will be changing the way we do things. And there will be plenty of time to discuss those changes later. But right now, I think it would help us greatly in the long run if you would come into the Institute today to record your statement.” Elias’s voice is still ever so composed, his gaze set on Jon. “While everything is still fresh in your mind.”

Jon agrees to it faster than Martin thought he would. Martin observes Elias and wonders how exactly he thinks it would be good for Jon to do anything but rest today. He looks as though he can barely stay upright, is shivering despite the summer heat, and frankly it is a wonder that he is still standing. When Martin looks away from Jon and back to Elias, the man is staring straight at him. There is an intensity there, and Martin is reminded of a predator staring down its prey. He feels goosebumps forming on his arms, a cold weight pressing down on his neck. I’m just exhausted, he tells himself. 

“And if you would be so inclined,” Elias says, “we would be immensely grateful to have your statement as well, Martin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys can have a little cuddling, as a treat <3  
> I'm sorry to announce that Elias "Evil McEvil" Bouchard has arrived in this fic :'(((
> 
> Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think! <3


	11. Chapter 11

“Martin? Are you…alright?”

Martin can hear a voice saying this, but it takes him a second (or maybe minutes, who’s to say?) to attach Jon’s name to that voice, and a bit longer yet to become aware of his surroundings once more. He is sitting at a desk in a small but cluttered office. Jon is sitting in front of him, looking concerned. It’s been a while since Martin has seen him looking anything but concerned. Martin has just given a statement about last night. That’s slowly coming back to him now. It’s strange, but he can’t quite remember what he said exactly. Jon had asked him, he thinks, to recall the events to the best of his abilities, but Martin can’t remember how he even began to describe all of it. He eyes the clock on the wall, hanging above Jon’s head. Almost an hour has passed. Huh. He lowers his gaze back down to Jon’s face.

“I-um,” he says. His voice is faintly raspy, like it’s been overused without pause. “Sorry- I… I don’t know where I went for a second, Jon.”

Jon gives him a small smile. “Ah- no um, statements can… take a lot out of people, I’ve noticed. It’s not often we’re asked to examine our um, our thoughts like that. It can be tiring. And of course we- you haven’t slept properly. Which is why I told Elias this could wait but-“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Martin says immediately. “I feel… weird, but not… not _bad_ weird, I don’t think.” The closest analogy Martin can conjure up for how he’s feeling now is therapy. He’s had his share of therapists, good and bad, but generally, he would leave his appointments feeling… _Seen_. Like he’d put a piece of himself out into the world for all to see.

“Oh,” Jon says. “That’s…good then. Thank you, by the way, for doing this.” He pauses. On the table, Jon’s hands fidget with a pen, nervous energy obvious in each movement. “I don’t know if you remember this, but, a little while after I first moved in, I set off the fire alarm?” At that Jon looks up and Martin nods. “You ah, you offered to make me some tea, after, and we-we talked.”

Martin smiles and nods again. 

Jon continues, “Anyway um, that night I told you about my job and you- you said it must be hard not to take the monsters home with me but-”

Martin interrupts, holding back a chuckle, “I didn’t mean it quite so literally, Jon.”

“Yes, but… I still want to say just- just how sorry I am to have involved you in all of this. It was never my intention.” His fingers grip the pen in his hand.

“I-” Martin starts, then stops. Instead of words, he reaches over the table to cover Jon’s hand with his own and presses down ever so lightly. Jon’s hand stills. “I know my monsters aren’t quite so visible as your own, Jon, but you’ve ah- you’ve rescued me in your own way a few times already. Some would say I was dangerously um, lonely, before we met. And that- that sounds really pathetic maybe, but I was so used to it that I didn’t really notice how bad it was. And it’s been good to-to have a friend like you in my life,” Martin pauses, “Really, really good actually. So… I’m glad I was there to help last night.”

Something like relief and understanding crosses Jon’s face but before he can reply, Martin hears the door behind him being opened. He turns around, his hand leaving Jon’s, to find Elias in the doorway.

“All done here?” he says. Then, before waiting for an answer, “We do appreciate you taking the time to do this, Mr. Blackwood, truly.”

Had Martin given Elias his surname? He doesn’t think so but he must have. Or perhaps Jon had mentioned it.

“Well,” Elias says, “I’m heading off to meet a… business associate, but I do hope to see you around, Mr. Blackwood. It was a pleasure meeting you.” With that, Elias turns to Jon, “I’ve let Sasha and Tim know what’s happened, and I’m sure one of them will be more than happy to take your statement later today, Jon.”

“Thanks, Elias. I’ll discuss it with them,” Jon says.

Elias leaves, but behind him are two strangers, a man and a woman, both looking a little younger than Martin or Jon. Both look incredibly worried and confused. 

The woman rushes into the office as soon as Elias is out of the way. “Jon,” she says, “I- are you okay?”

The man follows behind, “Elias said you think it was Prentiss? How… how is that possible?” 

The woman elbows the man lightly. “Ouch, Sasha!” he yells out in mock pain. “What I meant to say, Jon, is: we’re glad you survived.” He is smiling but Martin can hear the honesty in his last words. Unlike Elias’, their worry seems deeply genuine.

Jon stands up, and Martin follows. 

“I-I’m unharmed. A little…shaken is all.” Jon gestures to him, “This is Martin. He’s ah, he’s most of the reason why I don’t have worms in me right now. Martin, this is Tim and Sasha. We work together.”

Martin catches a glance between Tim and Sasha, and there’s a moment of silence before Tim says, his voice filled with curiosity and glee, “Oooh, you’re the neighbor! Martin, we’ve heard _so_ much about you from Jon!”

Martin doesn’t need to look at Jon to feel him stiffen beside him or to hear him clear his throat. Martin knows that perhaps he should say something to save Jon the embarrassment, but he is entirely too focused on the fact that Jon talks about him to his co-workers to do so. Talks about him _a lot_ , too, apparently.

“I-That, um-” Jon stammers out.

Sasha does not wait for a reply and heads out of the office, only turning back to them to say, “Let’s have some tea, shall we? There’s loads to talk about, neighbors and scary worm ladies included!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Sorry it's been so long, the past months have been busy and full of existential dread, but I'm back!
> 
> I missed writing JonMartin so much, but thank you for the comments I received while I was on hiatus they're what encouraged me to come back to this!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, there's plenty of angst and fluff to be had!


	12. Chapter 12

In the Institute’s kitchenette Jon does most of the talking, and Martin is grateful for it. He still feels that strange exhaustion from giving his statement, and he’s not sure he could go through all of it again. Tim and Sasha, it turns out, have gotten most of the details from Elias already, so Jon ends up answering their additional questions rather than recounting the entire night. It’s a bit of a relief to Martin, honestly, to see Jon interacting with them. He looked tense and not quite himself around Elias, but with Tim and Sasha he seems to relax. There’s still a bit of professional pretense in his voice, which isn’t there when Martin talks to him, but mostly their conversation is easy going and comfortable. They are all sitting at a small round table, Martin sandwiched between Sasha and Jon. When Jon speaks and gestures, his shoulders brush against Martin’s arms. It feels oddly intimate, this closeness in front of others. In the vast majority of the time they have spent together, they have been alone, and interacting with Jon in front of other people almost makes it feel more real. It’s silly, Martin thinks, to attach so much meaning to it- but he can’t help himself.

It’s only after Tim’s second or perhaps fifth question about how exactly Jane Prentiss looked that Martin realizes that they all got so caught up in conversation that they entirely forgot about the tea. He could use some if he is to stay awake a few hours longer, he thinks. And he’s pretty sure that Jon has not had anything to eat or drink since much, much earlier this morning.

“Oh,” Martin says, “Sorry to interrupt but um, I can make us some tea?”

“Shit!” Sasha says, standing up, “Yup sorry, I lured everyone here with the promise of tea and forgot to deliver!” 

Martin moves to stand too, but Tim is faster and places a hand on his shoulder before saying, “I’ll help. Can’t let our esteemed guest do all the work.”

There’s a moment of silence as Sasha fills the kettle up from the sink. Once she’s turned it on, she turns to them with what Martin can only describe as a mischievous smile. “Speaking of tea…” she begins, glancing at Tim.

Tim seems to pick up on whatever Sasha is hinting at. Jon must have, too, because he looks down at the table, like he doesn’t want Martin to see his expression. “Speaking of tea,” Tim repeats, “Jon’s been on a bit of a tea kick lately, right boss?”

Jon sinks slightly further down into his seat, but Tim is undeterred. “Apparently our good old office P&G tea isn’t good enough for him anymore.”

“Apparently,” Sasha says, “his neighbor makes the best Yorkshire tea.” With that she eyes Martin with a grin. “Of course it’s never quite right when we make it for him, so you must have some powerful tea magic, Martin.”

Martin looks down to Jon who looks like he is in physical pain next to him. Sasha places teabags in each of their cups, and pours water in. 

Tim makes a show of inspecting them, before adopting an incredibly serious expression and saying, “Well, I don’t know about that tea, Sasha. You know, Martin just has a different way of doing it.” His voice has taken on a much posher tone, and it’s not very difficult to tell he’s imitating Jon. It’s a pretty good impression too, Martin thinks. He chuckles and Jon turns to him, looking at him like Martin has betrayed him.

Sasha answers Tim with a near perfect Jon-voice, “Oh- oh you mean fearless Martin who rescued me from spiders? And very kind Martin who helped me set up the router when I moved in?”

“The very same!” Tim shouts. With that, they both collapse into laughter. 

Martin feels heat spreading up his cheeks and he prays that the fluorescent lights of the kitchenette don’t make his blush painfully obvious. So Jon really has been talking about him quite a bit. Martin bites back a smile. 

“No but seriously,” Sasha says as she brings the cups over and sits back down, “You’ll have to invite us over to try that tea one of these days!”

Tim adds, “I mean we’ll maybe wait a couple of days until we’re sure spooky worm girl won’t be coming back, but it is imperative that we examine this tea-making we’ve heard so much about.”

“Actually Tim has a point, Jon,” says Sasha, more serious, “Are you going to get a hotel or something until we know more? Martin, you should probably find a place to stay for a bit too, we can’t know what Prentiss plans on doing next.”

Oh, Martin thinks. That’s not something he’d considered at all. He’d planned on returning to his flat after this, clearing up everything from last night, and trying to forget all about it. But now it seems obvious that things won’t be that simple. For better or worse, he’s gotten tangled up in Jon’s world. 

“I-um…” is all Martin can make out, as his mind speeds through his complete lack of options. There’s not really a family home for him to return to. And most of his savings are going towards rent so a hotel is way out of question. And again Martin is confronted with the fact that he is sorely lacking in friends who could house him for a while. Shit.

“Actually,” Jon says, “I was going to talk to Martin about that right after this.” He sounds a lot calmer than Martin feels. 

Sasha smiles, “Well, that seems like a more urgent and useful conversation than anything Tim could contribute, so I think we’ll leave you to it.” She stands and grabs her mug.

“Hey!” interjects Tim, “I’ll have you know that it’s been scientifically proven that 100% of what I say is both urgent and useful, Sasha. Statistics can’t lie.” Yet even as he’s saying this, Tim is getting up from his chair and taking an eye-rolling Sasha by the arm. “Fine, I can see I’m not appreciated here, I’ll take my delightful conversation elsewhere.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Sasha says, deadpan. 

Before they head out, Tim turns and says, “It was lovely to meet you though, Martin. Sorry you’ve been caught up in all of this, but I’m sure big boss Jon can help you out.” Something about the sincerity in his voice slows down the spiral of thoughts in Martin’s head, if only a little. 

As soon as they are gone, Jon begins to speak, “Ah- I’m really sorry, Martin, I wanted to talk about this earlier, but then I took your statement, and then there was Elias, and then Tim and Sasha, and…” Martin thinks his worry must show on his features for Jon to look at him with so much concern.

“It’s, um, it’s okay,” Martin says shakily, “I-It’s just that leaving my flat didn’t even cross my mind, which I realize is quite silly given…everything. But the thing is that I don’t really know a lot of people, and um, my mom… she’s…” Martin stops himself when he sees the worried frown on Jon’s face. The topic of his mother is not a conversation he wants to have while sleep-deprived. Instead he looks down before continuing, “So I get that I can’t really stay home but I also don’t really have anywhere else to go. But it's… okay- I’ll um, figure something out.”

Jon’s hands flutter in his lap, as if he’d like to hold on to Martin but isn’t sure that this is the time for it. “It’s not- it’s not okay, Martin, and no one has the right to expect you to act like it is, least of all me. And today has been… a bit of a rollercoaster to say the least, so it’s okay to feel how you’re feeling, not um-not like you need permission from me or anything but…” Jon struggles for a moment, “but I just wanted you to know that.”

A part of Martin wonders when Jon learned to read him so well. How many conversations over how many cups of tea did it take for Jon to catalogue his expressions and moods? And how does Jon know exactly what to say right now? Before Martin can respond though, Jon continues, “I did, ah, have an idea for where you could stay, if- if you would be open to it. It’s- actually, it might be simpler if I just show you, if you don’t mind.”

Martin looks up at that, confusion plain on his face, “I- is it close?”

Jon smiles a smile that isn’t quite happy and answers, “You, um, you could say that yes.” 

And so Martin follows Jon out of the kitchenette, and past Tim and Sasha who are chatting at what Martin assumes to be their desks, and into a short hallway off to the side of the larger room which seems to be used for research. At the end of that hallway there is a door. It has a window but someone has done a pretty messy job of taping cardboard over it. 

As Jon sees Martin staring at the tape he says, “Did a pretty shoddy job of that, I agree, but-” he opens the door, “we used this room for artifact storage for a while but now it’s just storage for statements.” Jon runs his hand along the wall inside until he finds a switch for the light, then steps back to let Martin see inside.

There isn’t much there. It’s a medium sized room, but Martin can barely see the walls as they are all covered by either shelves or cardboard boxes with paper spilling out of them. There’s a camping cot off to the far side, with a folded up coat in place of a pillow. Three empty mugs are precariously piled one atop the other beside the cot. The lights above buzz and flicker faintly.

“I…” Martin ventures uncertainly.

Jon steps inside the room then turns to him, “It’s- it’s not much, I know, but it’s where I sleep when I finish work late… It’s…quiet, and since we used it for artifacts before, it’s humidity controlled and more or less sealed apart from that door, so Jane- the worms shouldn’t be able to come inside if it comes to that.” Jon sighs, and Martin can hear the exhaustion and the guilt in it.

“No actually,” Martin says, “this is… this is better than anything I could come up with, Jon.” He isn’t lying, not when his other option is staying in his flat and hoping for the best. 

Something like relief crosses Jon’s face, “Oh- I’m, um, glad. It’s obviously far from ideal, but I can help you move whatever you need inside over the afternoon.”

Martin nods, “We could maybe get an Uber so we can take as much as we need without worrying about carrying it all on the tube.”

Jon looks properly startled at what Martin’s just said. Martin repeats the sentence again in his mind, but finds nothing wrong with it. When Jon speaks next, his cheeks are slightly darker. “Um- we?”

Oh. Martin looks around the room. Tries and fails to steady his voice, “Sorry- I just, I assumed you needed a place to stay as well? Where were you planning on going?”

Jon turns his attention to the lights flickering above instead of looking at Martin when replying, “Well… I hadn’t really planned on anything yet. But I’m… confident I could find a place to um, crash.” But Jon is not the only one who has been getting good at reading the other, and they both hear the lie in his words.

Martin stumbles, “I- but that’s… Sorry Jon, but that’s nonsense. You, ah, you actually work here and I don’t need to remind you that Prentiss was stalking you, first and foremost.” He gestures around them., “Besides, there-there’s more than enough room for the both of us to stay here.” Martin is pretty damn proud of his arguments. Pretty damn proud of himself for not letting his strongest argument spill too: he wants Jon here. Right now he can’t picture falling asleep alone in this unfamiliar place after everything that’s happened. You’ve been spoiled, is what Martin thinks to himself, you’ve grown too accustomed to have Jon around and now you’d rather not do without.

Jon looks a bit stunned, but recovers quickly enough. “Ah- I suppose that you’re right, Martin. Staying here is safer,” he hesitates, “more…practical.”

“More sensible, really,” adds Martin.

Jon nods, “It’s the only… pragmatic option.”

“Well, you- I’m glad we agree, Jon.”

To be fully honest, Martin hadn’t thought Jon would agree to it. Or at least not so fast. He feels relief course through his veins, accompanied by a nervous sort of happiness. He isn’t going to be alone. Perhaps just as importantly, he isn’t going to be alone because he is going to be with Jon. And all he’d had to do was ask. It’s with a quick pang of sadness that Martin realizes that it has been a very long time since anyone has stayed by him out of anything but obligation. But Jon will.

Next to him, Jon yawns. “Now that that’s more or less sorted, what do you say to us heading out to pack our things?”

Still caught up in his gratefulness for Jon, it takes Martin a second to reply, “I-um…Yes, I’m good to go when you are.” 

Jon smiles and begins to head out.

“Oh- and, Jon?” The words are out of his mouth before he’s had any time to think about them. 

Jon looks at him, a slight expression of puzzlement on his face.

Thank you, is what Martin wants to say. But the words feel small and too casual for how Martin is feeling. Without a word, he walks over to Jon and pulls him into a hug. For a second the only noise is the faint electric buzz of the lights. And then that sound is joined by that of fabric rustling as Jon brings his arms around Martin. His hands press down on Martin’s back gently, pulling him closer. They are so close he cannot tell if it is his heart or Jon’s beating so rapidly between them.

Martin doesn’t think the world has ever felt so fragile and hopeful and frightening and caring all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so so long compared to all the others but I didn't want to cut it in half randomly for the sake of having two shorter ones, so instead please enjoy this long one! <3 
> 
> Also just wanted to say thank you so much for all of your comments on the last chapter aaaa they made me so happy <333 I'm getting writer's whiplash from alternating between angst and fluff but I'm so glad you're enjoying it! :)))


	13. Chapter 13

Packing up some essentials doesn’t take Martin nearly as long as he thought it would. His apartment is quite… minimalist. Not by choice, though. Growing up, he spent a lot of time picturing what his home would look like once he no longer lived with his mother. In his daydreams, it was always happily cluttered. He imagined walls filled with pictures of friends and perhaps a partner, maybe letters from his students letting him know about their lives as they grew up, mismatched pillows, an unfinished puzzle or boardgame on a table (to be continued with friends). Looking around now, though, Martin feels something like dread settle heavily in his gut. His apartment looks like his mother’s house. Sterile and impersonal. Not really a place for memories or warmth or laughter or comfort. The sudden realization makes his eyes well up, and he has to take a second to breathe before zipping up his bags and meeting Jon outside. 

Martin offers to split the price of the Uber back to the Institute, but Jon makes the compelling argument that he’ll make sure Elias reimburses him since “Fleeing from worms is very much a business related cost.” Martin can’t really argue with that. They don’t talk much in the car. Martin is still contemplating how easy it was to pack up his life in two duffel bags, and Jon… Jon is barely awake. He began dozing off as soon as he was sat down, like whatever adrenaline had been keeping him awake throughout the morning has evaporated. Martin sneaks a few glances at him across the backseat, before realizing that there is no need for him to be sneaky about it, since Jon has closed his eyes. Every once in a while, Jon’s head drops forward and startles him awake for a few seconds, before his eyelids drift down once more. That can’t be comfortable, Martin thinks. After the third or fourth time it’s happened, Martin reaches into his bag to find one of his sweaters. Carefully, he places it on Jon’s shoulder so that it props his head up. It seems to do the trick. 

Martin returns to his shameless observation. While packing, Jon has clearly taken the time to change. Martin still can’t quite place a finger on what exactly Jon’s style is. Whenever he’s seen him out of his work clothes, Jon seems to gravitate to the largest, most colorful sweaters he can find, like a moth drawn to comfort and light. But for work he dresses like an entirely different person- all sweater vests and tucked-in shirts and tastefully striped pants. And Martin _knows _that the Magnus Institute’s dress code can’t be that severe. After all, Tim had been wearing what can only be described as a psychedelic print Hawaiian shirt when Martin had met him this morning. Between the posh accent Jon adopts at work and how he dresses, Martin is beginning to suspect that he wants to appear more put together than he might feel. Honestly with a boss like Elias, Martin can understand why. Still, he much prefers Jon in oversized pastel jumpers- not that that has anything to do with anything.__

__When Jon and Martin finally make their way back down the little room in the Archives, arms heavy with their things, they find a small plant in a clay pot and an envelope waiting for them on the floor in front of the taped-up door._ _

__“Oh,” Martin says eloquently, setting his bags down. He crouches down to look at the plant. He knows nothing about botany but it looks lovely, in his expert opinion. He turns to ask Jon if he knows what type of plant it is, and is startled to find that Jon too, is crouching just a few centimeters from him, reaching for the envelope.  
Jon rolls his eyes as he reads the note, before reading it aloud to Martin, “Dear Jon and Martin, a housewarming gift seemed appropriate. There’s not really any etiquette for moving into your workplace because of spooky worm ladies, but we tried our best. Also Tim wanted an excuse to go for a walk,” Jon sighs, “Love, your favorite assistant. And Tim.”_ _

__Shit, Martin thinks, as tears prick his eyes for the second time today. He stands up quickly, hoping Jon hasn’t seen anything. He stands up too quickly apparently, because his vision sways and swings for a moment before settling. When the world comes into focus again, Jon is standing near him, watching him with a look of concern._ _

__“Martin- are you okay?” Jon is asking him._ _

__“What? Yeah, sorry, just got up a little fast,” he says with a weak smile._ _

__“Martin,” Jon starts, unconvinced._ _

__“Jon,” Martin repeats, mimicking his tone. It’s childish, but Martin is nothing if not stubborn. Crying in front of Jon is not on his to-do list for the day._ _

__Jon is silent for a moment. Then he moves and Martin thinks he is reaching for their bags and dropping the matter (as people around Martin have usually done in moments like this), but instead he opens the door, and softly places a hand on Martin’s back to lead him inside. Jon closes the door behind them._ _

__“I- Martin…” Jon hesitates, searching for the right words, before asking, “What’s wrong?”. Immediately, he adds, “Besides the overall wrongness of everything that’s happened today, I mean.”_ _

__Martin thinks about telling Jon that he’s just tired. That would be true of course, but not why he’s on the verge of tears. He doesn’t want to lie to Jon right now._ _

__“Jon, it’s-“ he says, before sniffling, “it’s going to sound very daft, especially with all of the things that I could be sad about today, but- but I moved into uni all alone, and then I graduated and no one was there to watch me do it, and I moved into my current flat all alone too… And-” Martin takes a shaky breath, “and I was just thinking, um, I was just thinking, that it’s nice to have people around this time.” He pauses, gives Jon a shaky smile and adds, “Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.”_ _

__Jon doesn’t speak for a few seconds. Martin wonders if he’s finally managed to scare him off. One of his flat-mates during his second year of university had told him (after a few drinks) that he “sure didn’t hesitate to dump his emotional baggage on people”. After that Martin hadn’t much talked about himself, really. Has he crossed that line with Jon, too?_ _

__In an effort to repair the damage, Martin stammers, “But-but mostly I’m just very tired, I think. Just need a nap and I’ll be good as new.”_ _

__Jon shakes his head, “No, Martin, you don’t have to…” he trails off. “When I moved in above you, I thought I was going to be all alone, and then, ah, then I wasn’t. Because you were there. And um,” Jon looks down, his cheeks darkening, “you’ve been there for me since then, so-so I think you deserve to have people around you this time. And I’m very sorry you didn’t have that before.”_ _

__Well, thinks Martin, perhaps he will be crying today after all._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this update has taken so long to come! Got a bit of a writing block and a lot of life things got in the way, but this chapter is finally up! Thank you so much for sticking around <3  
> Reading your comments is what helped me get back into it so I really appreciate it! xxx
> 
> Also s5 is stressing me out so I needed to write about the boys being soft and safe (for now O.o)


	14. Chapter 14

The rest of the afternoon goes past in a blur. Jon leaves to give his statement to Sasha, and Martin makes use of his time alone to take a well-deserved nap. The camping cot isn’t the most comfortable thing Martin’s slept on, but at this point he’ll take anything. Still, it worries him that Jon has spent so many nights all alone in this little room, on this cramped cot. There isn’t too much time to think about that though, as Martin falls asleep seconds later.

He’s woken up by a series of playful knocks at the door. 

“Uh-huh?” he mumbles, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. How long has he been asleep? There are no windows in the room, no way to tell if it’s still light outside.

The door opens to reveal Tim. He looks around the room confused for a seconds, before his eyes settle down on Martin, who is just getting into a sitting position. He smiles apologetically, “I’m very sorry Martin, didn’t mean to wake you. Just wasn’t sure if you were in here or out exploring this strange place I like to call Hell. Fondly, of course.”

Martin chuckles at that, slowly stands up. “That bad, is it? But ah, no don’t worry, I feel a lot better already.”

“Jon hasn’t said? You have to sign a contract with the devil himself to end up here,” Tim says with a mischievous grin.

It only takes a second for Martin to catch on, “Elias _is_ a bit, um, a bit of a prick, isn’t he?”

“That’s a very kind word for it. Sash’ and I are pretty convinced he derives his life force from working us down to the bone. That and whatever product he puts in his hair to keep it so slick.” Tim smirks, then looks at Martin with a touch of seriousness in his gaze. “You know what he asked me when I interviewed here?”

Martin shakes his head.

“What my last nightmare was about.” Tim catches Martin’s frown and continues, “Right? Apparently it had something to do with making sure I had the ‘emotional resilience’ and ‘capacity for honesty’ needed for the job.” He makes air quotes as he speaks. “Still, kind of a sinister interview question if you ask me. But alas, I am here.”

“My worst interview question was whether I viewed myself as a tree or a flower. So… not quite on your level.” 

Tim laughs, and Martin feels a little bit of pride in his ability to maintain a conversation so soon after waking up. 

“Anyway,” Tim says, “I didn’t just come here to disturb you. Actually I was hoping you could help me move the couch from our break room to here? Sasha and Jon are busy with his statement, and despite my appearance, I do not actually have godlike strength.”

It’s not the easiest task, fitting the sofa through the narrow door, but they manage. They set it down against the shelves that stretch across the wall opposite the camping cot, which leaves only a sliver of unoccupied floor space in the room. Afterwards, they both settle back at the little kitchenette table, a plate of rapidly dwindling chocolate Digestives between them. Martin has to hand it to Tim, the man knows how to keep up a conversation. Besides Jon, this is the most he’s talked to anyone in a very long time. He hadn’t quite realized how much he missed having people around, people who listened and asked questions and made him smile. Before his mom left for her care home, he dreaded their living room and their kitchen- spaces that were meant to be lively and warm but that were so stilted and silent when she was there. He would come home from teaching and he would ask her the same questions every day. _What have you been up to, Mom? Are you alright, Mom? Do you need anything, Mom?_ She would reply with the fewest words possible, a talent she honed over their years alone together. She would never ask him anything in return. No. No, that wasn’t right. When she was tired of his questions, she’d ask him to make her some tea. Always oolong, and the smell at this point had engrained itself into the walls of the kitchen. But Martin would oblige, and the hissing of the kettle would drown out any attempts at conversation. So yes, talking to Tim feels _nice_. 

Eventually, Jon and Sasha emerge from the little office where Martin had given his statement in the morning. They all chat together for a few moment longer, before Sasha announces that it’s been too much excitement for one day, and that she needs to go home or she’ll collapse from exhaustion. It seems Tim isn’t the only one with a penchant for the dramatics, thinks Martin, smiling. Tim hurries off after her, declaring that he cannot let her brave the Underground’s rush hour all alone. He shouts back a goodbye to Martin and Jon, and then he’s gone. And then it’s just the two of them again. 

Things almost feel normal for a while, but the feeling dissipates when Martin looks at Jon. Jon is not looking a normal amount of tired, and Martin has _seen_ him tired before. No, currently he looks like it’s taking everything in him to stay upright. Martin realizes he didn’t say a word in the previous conversation with Tim and Sasha. His eyes are glazed over, head still turned towards the space his coworkers were last standing. 

“Um, Jon?” Martin says quietly.

Jon blinks his eyes rapidly a few times before turning to him.

“Oh- sorry I…” he trails off, seemingly lacking the energy to complete his sentence.

Softly, Martin places a hand on Jon’s arm, who leans into the touch. Martin’s heart is beating hummingbird fast. “Okay, um, I think you need some sleep, Jon. So… so let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

They slowly make their way to their room. Right, their room, Martin thinks. The room that they are sharing. Together. He can’t spend too long mulling over that thought though- Jon looks like he might just faint any second now. Having tried the camping cot, Martin is willing to bet that the couch will be a lot more cozy, so that is where he leads Jon, holding him as he sits him down on the cushions. 

“Sorry,” Jon begins, “I’m not, um, not the most useful right now.”

Martin chuckles, “You’re… you’re doing just fine, Jon. I had a nap earlier and I’m still knackered, so I don’t know how _you’ve_ stayed up for this long.” As he speaks, Martin notices that Jon is shivering slightly. He briefly considers asking him where he packed his sweaters, but asking anything of Jon right now doesn’t seem like the most efficient way to get him to warm up quickly. Instead, Martin shuffles through his own bag, letting out a small hum of satisfaction when he finds what he’s looking for. He places it in Jon’s hand. He seems about to protest, but then just whispers a “thank you” and tugs the sweater over his head. It dwarfs him completely, as Martin had expected, but it’s the softest thing he owns and he wants Jon to be comfortable. Jon looks down at what he’s now wearing and smiles: the sweater is bright red and covered with various prints of pastel mugs and it is very ‘Jon’. Martin grins, proud of his work, then turns away in an effort to hide his blush, suddenly very immersed in arranging his own bed. 

It only takes him a few moments to lie down but Jon is already asleep by then, curled up into such a tight ball that he barely uses half of the couch, sweater over his hands which are tucked beneath his head. Martin lets out a sigh of relief that sleep came quickly- he isn’t sure Jon could’ve taken much more today.  
The space between the cot and the sofa that seemed so narrow earlier now feels too large. So big that Martin couldn’t reach his hand out to Jon if he tried. Not that he ever would, of course. Not that he’s thought about folding Jon in his arms a dozen times today. Nothing like that. 

He falls asleep watching Jon’s shoulder rise and fall with each of his breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I listen to the new episode on Patreon yesterday and immediately decide to write some fluff? Yes, yes I did <3
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely comments on the last chapter! Honestly it means so much that you guys are still enjoying this! xxx


End file.
